


多爱都藏起来 (很难过就不会很空白)

by bulletthestars



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:49:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulletthestars/pseuds/bulletthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nico wants what he can't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	多爱都藏起来 (很难过就不会很空白)

In the beginning it had been nothing. Or rather, you'd told yourself it was nothing, it was unimportant. You've got Vivian, and that's all that matters.

(Jenson's nothing but the strange boy you'd met in Barcelona in 1998, and the driver whose place you'd taken in Williams, and that's all there is to it)

But time goes by, and so do the races, one after another after another. You don't know how and why and when you start falling, and disappointment builds, but you tell yourself to keep your chin up, you can take this. You look to Jenson, you draw closer and he draws you in but then you pull away, afraid of being burnt. The heat from his palm on your shoulder is far too warm, he grins and he calls you _Britney_ and throughout you don't ever forget what he said in some interview — the only thing he wanted to do was _Britney_.

(Though really, you should forget about it because Britney's not you, it can never be you)

Then he wins the championship. Things can go two ways at the end of the season: one, you end up as teammates, you have a hundred and one excuses to be seen together all the time, for easy touches and soft smiles or two, you don't end up as teammates, and you continue watching from afar.

You don't end up as teammates. He moves to McLaren, and you tell yourself that this is better. They will compare, they will be vicious, they will tear the two of you apart. When you end up on the podium with him in China, both of you racing for new teams, you choke on your words and tell yourself you're happy it turned out this way.

It takes two more years before you're on the podium in China again but this time, it's you on the top step. He's standing next to you and you've got to look down to talk to him, for the very first time, and it's thrilling terrifying exciting all at once and there can be no going back for you now that you've got this, your first ever victory. Maiden pole, maiden win. He grins at you and tells you that you beat him, you got your first win two races before he did and you laugh shyly, letting his words wash over you. You've got your bottles of champagne in your hands, and he's spraying at you (and so is Lewis, but Lewis is _Lewis_ , not Jenson) and then there's splashes of champagne against your cheeks and you open your mouth to drink, drink it all up, drink it all in. The moment is infinite, it spreads out and envelops you and you bask in the joy and the glow and the glory. It's pulled abruptly from you when it's time for the post-race interview, but his hand on your body radiates warmth and it no longer burns and you think, if this is how it's going to be, everything will be fine.

And then you think, maybe, just maybe, you should say something. But each time you want to you catch yourself before you speak and you think that well, it'll be alright, there'll always be tomorrow. It's okay for you to stay like this, because you don't know where you stand with him, and it isn't as if he hasn't got someone already. It's better this way, to be able to be by his side, to fall into step with him as you walk together in the paddock, to let the conversation flow easily, to believe that you're the only one he looks at with the light in his eyes and that smile on his lips.

(Or rather, you've been hesitating for far too long that you've missed all your chances even when he had been unattached)

You keep the words on your tongue, never letting them leave your lips. It isn't time for you to say it, each time never feels quite right. So you carry the words in your heart, always watching, always waiting. If you hold this inside you, at least it'll fill you with something, so you don't have to deal with emptiness consuming you.

One thing leads to another, and somehow you end up together, drinking. He's half drunk and you look at him with his lips parted and you're so tempted, so tempted to lean close and kiss him and indulge yourself in one final 'what if'. You shift, bending over, and the gap between the both of you is disappearing slowly into nothing. The music's still playing, someone's muttering something incoherent and you stop, hesitating. Then the moment's gone, and you bite the inside of your cheek because you know this isn't how it should be — you've played your first kiss over and over again in your head, his hand in your hair cradling your head and his lips soft against your own, not here with him sprawled out on the sofa almost asleep. But that's just a silly fantasy, a dream you should've let go of a long time ago because it's never going to happen. All that you have is him murmuring as he shifts, head pressed against your shoulder.

 _Nico_ , he mumbles. Your name sounds safe on his tongue. Like it belongs there.

But the truth is that it doesn't, and right there and then, as he shifts against you, it hits you with a pang in your heart. You're never going to be his. You could grow your hair out again and shave off your stubble and look up at him exactly the way you did all those years ago, you could cut your hair short and let a beard grow, you could win the championship, you could do anything, but you're never going to be his.

You've got to move on. There's no point in holding on to something you'll never be able to have. And you're too weak to let go, too weak to chase after what you really want, and you're still with Vivian, and after all these years. It's time for you to make a decision.

(And yes, there's always going to be tomorrow)

Fast forward half a year, and you're about to fly to Bahrain for testing when he texts you, saying that he's now engaged. Just like you, of course. Just like you. You congratulate him, fingers flying across the touchscreen of your mobile phone. The tears well up and you bite your lower lip. It's all over now.

You tell yourself that letting the person you love go isn't helplessness. It's love. And sometimes, love is about hiding it all in your heart.

**Author's Note:**

> -i blame anne seriously this is all her fault u_______u  
> -title and bits at the end from 张栋梁's [藏爱 (hidden love)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aTYhtFUcOPw), also inspired by adele's [someone like you](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLQl3WQQoQ0).  
> -title translates to 'hide all your love in your heart (if you're miserable, you won't feel that empty.)'


End file.
